Catch a Tiger by the Tail

[Mr. Tawky Tawny]

What does it mean to be a man? That was the question which ran through the mind of Mr. Tawky Tawny as he watched passersby from the inkwell of darkness that was his alleyway. To be male, or to identify as one, those were not what puzzled him, as he fell into both categories. No, his question was purpose and place in life, and if anything not born a man could become one. After all, can anything truly change what it was born as?

But what if a man wasn't born at all? What if, through the intangible, unfathomable depths of magic held by elder gods and spirits of the arcane, a man was created into being, fully formed, instead of born? Was he still a man, or was he merely a construct which could think, speak and walk? To such end, what made a man: his experiences, his memories, or his intelligence? If it were experience, Mr. Tawky Tawny could scarcely consider himself an infant, as he'd spent less than a week in his current form. Yet if it were memories, perhaps he was an ancient mystic, recalling things from centuries gone past. And if it were intelligence, he shuddered to think. When Ibis the Invincible breathed life into him, a true life with a true body, with it had come knowledge from Ibis himself, and he presumed from the other ancients as well. What thoughts were his own, and what thoughts had once been dreamed up in another's head did constant battle as he fought to establish his place in the world, all while fighting with yet another voice - one that Ibis did not intend.

The tiger.

Perhaps Ibis had met such beings before, or perhaps Ibis had thought that any vessel vaguely man-shaped should be able to think and act of its own intention, free from the instincts and natures of a wild animal. In any case, Ibis had underestimated the strength of the primal urges and desires of the beast he had brought to life. Mr. Tawky Tawny had been something else before he was a man; a child's cuddly toy tiger doll dressed in a green checked suit coat, polka dot tie, and black pants. A gentle and loving insight into the cartoons of the 1940s, when the doll had been manufactured. So, it was as a tiger type of man that Ibis had created him. Six and a half feet in height, nearly three hundred pounds of muscle, sinew, teeth, tail and claws, Mr. Tawky Tawny was, if anything, a tiger-man at best. Capable of walking on two legs of four, and of both roaring and speech, he was neither tiger nor man, yet fancied himself the latter. If only he knew what that truly meant.

Billy had been startled the first time Mr. Tawky Tawny had appeared to him in this form, dwarfing the boy in the small boarding room back at Brentwood Academy. Billy was the closest thing Mr. Tawky Tawny had to family, having been in the boy's possession for a great many years. The magic of the Black Adam's scarab pendant had given him a form of self-awareness, even back then, and he had been Billy's silent, still companion through many a playtime, nap, cry, or just being the listening ear when Billy had no one else to talk to. Through it all he had learned how good, honest and wonderful a human could be, and as he stood there, veiled in shadow, he wondered if he could ever truly be that good, not being fully human.

The tiger in him desired other things. It wanted to hunt, to pounce upon prey and feast upon its flesh. Learning to sort instinct from reason had been tricky at first, and even now Mr. Tawky Tawny found himself consciously separating one from the other. He was a tiger. He was a man. He was something unlike anything that had ever existed. And if he chose, he could turn back into that same, cuddly tiger doll that Billy grew up with, and was certainly missing that night as Mr. Tawky Tawny took to the city while Billy slept.

It had been no difficult journey, aided by a stealthy leap into the back of a passing truck, and surely he would be back at Billy's bedside before sun-up, so he had time to experience the world for what it was; to learn what was real, and what was simply information fed into his mind by his creator without rhyme or reason. The urge to hit a bar and get a drink crossed his mind like a taxi speeding unannounced through an otherwise quiet intersection. How could he need a drink if he'd never known alcohol before? Was this his desire, or some leftover vestige of Ibis's recollection? Rubbing his broad brow with a massive paw, the tiger attempted to clear his mind and focus. First he needed to be a man. Then he could drink as one. All he needed to do was step out of the shadows and walk among them. Just a few steps would be all it would take to join the sparse, nighttime foot traffic. Just a few steps and the world would know he existed. That he, Mr. Tawky Tawny, was a man, just as they were.

On silent feet he crept toward the very edge of shadow, eyes glinting green in the darkness as the sylvansheen reflected headlights of passing cars. Striped tail lashing behind himself, he hesitated, then broke the plane of anonymity into the dismal, flickering light of a streetlamp whose purview reached at an angle into his alley. There. He had done it. A deep rumble resonated in his throat behind the Oxford collar of his dress shirt, the tiger in him finding satisfaction in knowing it was now the alpha predator of the realm, and another step sent him out onto the sidewalk to survey his hunting grounds.